Gargoyles 2198: Old Night
by Algernon84
Summary: The year is 2198 and Earth itself is under siege. While the planet labors under Space-Spawn occupation, Demona and Zafiro mount a desperate rescue mission to the sanctuary of New Camelot, hidden somewhere in the Antarctic wastes. Little do they suspect the Utopian city has already fallen to a far more insidious invader than any alien.
1. Dusk

Gargoyles _, co-created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Dracula _, created by Bram Stoker, is the property of everyone._

 _Special thanks to Masterdramon, Gryphinwyrm7 and Bookwyrm for providing beta reading and feedback._

 _Extra special thanks to Gryphinwyrm7 for allowing me the use of some of the OCs featured in this story._

* * *

On Queen Florence Island, just off the western coast of Canada, history was being made. The twelve clan leaders of the Gargoyle Nation and almost every human Head of State on Earth were gathered. All twelve clans had brought their eggs to the caldera of the island's extinct volcano. Some of the hatchlings born tonight would eventually return to their original rookeries, but most would remain to form the foundation of a new clan, a thirteenth clan.

One young gargoyle only regretted that she could not be there in person. Instead she sat in her study in New Camelot, pouring over her datapad as live coverage of the ceremony streamed on a monitor in the background.

She was relatively young. Today would be her fortieth birthday as humans reckoned such things. Though by her kind's standards, she was barely a young adult. Covered in light green fur and feathered wings, with cloven hooves and stag like antlers, she struck an impressive figure.

Despite her fearsome appearance, she had always been more scholar than warrior. Ever since she first learned to read, she had been fascinated by codes of justice, from the code of Hamurabi to the American Constitution to even New Camelot's original charter. What had begun as a precocious childhood interest had blossomed into a lifetime of study. Now she found herself turning to those same laws seeking the answer to one question…

What rights had the dead?

"Excuse me, Peryton," a cool metallic voice echoed through the chamber with no apparent source.

"Yes, Matrix?" she asked, seemingly unperturbed by the disembodied voice.

"You have an incoming communique from Dame Dugan."

"Patch her through."

The streamed footage from Queen Florence Island was replaced by the image of a young woman, not more than nineteen years in age despite her pure silver hair. "You plan on joining us down here any time this century, Pery?" she spoke in a thick Ulster accent.

The gargoyle smiled. At little over nineteen, Dame Siobhán "Shiv" Dugan was one of the youngest Knights of the New Round Table as well as Peryton's closest friend outside her own rookery siblings. "Sorry, got caught up making a few notes."

"I swear, you'll go blind before too long with the way you read. Well, get down here quickly. Yer 'client' is waiting."

"On my way." Peryton's insides tightened in dread, despite the mask of professionalism she wore. She was not looking forward to this.

[-]

New Camelot was a wonder, a paradise hidden in the wastes of Antarctica, maintained by the Master Matrix, protected by both its resident gargoyle clan and the Knights of the New Round Table. For almost two centuries it had stood as a beacon of hope and enlightenment for the rest of the planet.

Peryton soared beneath a cloudless, star filled sky. Of course, it was an illusion, a synthetic environment created by a vast artificial dome controlled by the Master Matrix.

Beyond the dome, icy storms raged and polar night was just beginning. Though the Matrix could artificially simulate a 24-hour cycle of day and night, Peryton knew it would be six long months before New Camelot would know the light of the true sun again.

Below her, a network of gleaming silver spires and pathways blended almost seamlessly with lush tropical foliage. At the center of this futurist landscape, incongruously stood a cyclopean stone castle, banners of every color imaginable hanging from its walls.

The castle was mostly deserted save for the clan Honor Guard and some human support staff. Most of the senior members of the Table had elected to accompany the Queen and the First Knight to the hatching. Still, Peryton spotted two figures awaiting her in the courtyard below.

"About time," Siobhán called out as Peryton landed.

"Sorry, I needed to double check a few things," Peryton responded, brandishing her datapad by way of explanation. "This case is kind of… unique."

"You sure you're up for this?" Siobhán asked, her face softening.

"I'm fine, really!" implored Peryton, probably putting a bit more feigned enthusiasm into the words than seemed credible. "After all, the prisoner did ask for a lawyer."

"The beast should have been put out of its misery a century ago!" the third figure spoke in a low rumbling tone, like the voice of a mountain. It was a hulking, roughly human-shaped mass of living clay.

"Rabbi Loew! If we simply execute any sapient being, whatever their crimes, without at least the recourse to a trial then we're little better than the Quarrymen!" Peryton spoke passionately before remembering who she was addressing. Rabbi Loew was one of the founding members of the New Round table, having served New Camelot for almost two centuries, even after the loss of his original body. "That is… with all due respect, Sir."

"Hrmph," he grunted. "You might not feel that way after you've spoken with it."

[-]

Since its founding at the dawn of the 21st century, serious crime had been almost unknown in New Camelot. What petty offenders did exist were held in a small gaol well outside the Castle grounds. The Dungeon existed only to hold some of the most dangerous beings on the face of the planet, captured by the Knights in their globe-spanning peacekeeping efforts.

Despite its medieval origins, the Dungeon was fully equipped with all the resources modern technology could provide. Peryton, Siobhán and Rabbi Loew passed half a dozen cells where energized force fields served in the place of iron bars.

A sound like live wires sparking shattered the silence. Peryton's wings flared, her muscles tensing in expectation of attack.

"Did I frighten you, little gargoyle?" a voice rasped mockingly.

The owner of the voice was human, mostly. Copper skinned, bald and vaguely androgynous. Much of her body had been replaced by cybernetics. Her fingers ended in long serrated metal talons which raked along the surface of the field, producing the sparking noise that had startled Peryton.

"Sorry 'bout that," the prisoner purred sardonically.

Peryton recognized her from the knights' reports. Hyena; the latest in a long line of mercenaries to use that _nom de guerre_.

The young gargoyle felt Siobhán's hand on her shoulder. "Ignore her. She just wants attention."

Peryton let her friend guide her down the gloomy corridor until they came to an imposing steel vault. The doorway was flanked by two gargoyles clad in intricately plated silver armor and wielding weapons that seemed part halberd, part particle-rifle.

They were clan elders, veteran warriors selected by the Queen and the First Knight for this very purpose. Sworn to protect the world from the creature that lay within.

"Last chance," Siobhán whispered softly. "You don't have to do this."

"I know, but I'm going to anyway," Peryton responded as the guards drew back the vault door. She stepped into a chamber that seemed more like a mausoleum than a prison cell.

Almost every inch of the wall space was covered in religious iconography, taken from virtually every creed and cult on Earth. Crucifixes, Tetragrammatons and Qur'anic inscriptions stood alongside west African and Haida wards against malevolent spirits, a bulwark of faith against the darkness.

At the very center, stretching from floor to ceiling, stood a pillar of blinding radiance, brighter than anything Peryton had ever seen. She was forced to shield her eyes as they adjusted. Slowly, the pillar of light resolved itself into a transparent tube containing a single solitary occupant.

He was impossibly ancient, with skin like dried paper stretched over a hunched skeletal frame. A few faint wisps of ghost-white hair clung tenuously to an otherwise bare pate.

In seemed inconceivable to Peryton that he could withstand a stiff breeze, yet alone be one of the most prolific mass murders of the second millennium, until he turned his gaze. His ice blue eyes fixed on her like a wolf's on a true deer.

"Welcome to my house. Enter freely. Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring," he spoke in a barely audible whisper.

Peryton steeled herself. "Prince Vlad Drăculea of Wallachia?"

He nodded imperceptibly. "I am Dracula."

She nodded in return. "I'm called Peryton. I've volunteered to serve as your legal counsel as requested."

"Forgive me, child. I have been a 'guest' of your good Monarch for quite some time and cannot keep abreast of all your vaunted modern 'progress', but I do believe the rules of solicitor-client confidentiality still apply in this century?" He eyed the two Knights meaningfully.

"We're. Not. Leaving," Siobhán spoke bluntly.

"Shiv, I'll be fine… really." Peryton gave her friend a reassuring smile.

Siobhán was silent for a moment. "If he tries anything…" she practically growled.

"You'll be the first to know," Peryton swore.

Siobhán reluctantly withdrew, followed closely by the heavy lumbering steps of Rabbi Loew.

Peryton turned back to the prisoner. "I wouldn't recommend attempting to use your mesmeric powers on me. I couldn't free you even if I wanted too."

His lips peeled back in a feral smile. "And if I were to command you to pluck out your own eyes?"

Peryton tried to ignore the threat and the shudder of vulnerability it provoked. "May I ask exactly why you requested legal counsel, your highness?"

He reclined on his chair, one of the few furnishing of the spartan cell save for an oblong casket containing a thin layer of his native soil. "I have no intention of spending from now until Judgement Day wasting away in this pit."

"Your highness," she began. "The possibility of Her Majesty even considering release is almost…"

He raised a claw-like hand. "I do not ask for parole. I ask for execution."

She blinked. "I… I beg your pardon."

"After seven centuries, immortality has begun to… pall." He drew himself up to his full height, looking down on her haughtily. "If I am to be condemned, then I demand a monarch's death as is my due."

Peryton's mind raced, trying to process the magnitude of what was being asked of her. She was already mentally correlating potential precedents almost without conscious thought when her reflection was shattered by the sound of blaring klaxons.

"City wide alert!" the Master Matrix's monotone echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once. "Unknown vessel detected in New Camelot airspace! All perzzzzzck-"

"On second thought," the prisoner intoned with apparent nonchalance. "Perhaps I won't be requiring your assistance after all, child."

A moment later, the entire chamber went pitch black as the temperature began to rapidly drop. Next thing Peryton knew, Siobhán and Rabbi Loew were bursting into the chamber, now washed in the dim crimson glow of the emergency lights.

"Pery, something's wrong with the Master Matrix! We have to get out before the Dungeon…" Siobhán's voice died in her throat as her eyes widened in horror. "Dear God, no..."

"Shiv, what…?" Peryton turned towards the great transparent cylinder, now dark and completely empty. So shocked was the young gargoyle that she didn't even notice the thin layer of mist curling about her hooves until it was too late.

The last thing Peryton saw were pale talons materializing out of the fog, striking with the speed and precision of a cobra.

 **New Camelot, March 22nd…**

 **2198 C.E.**


	2. Dark

[-]

One thousand years ago...

Superstition and the sword ruled.

It was a time of darkness.

It was a world of fear.

It was the age... of gargoyles!

Stone by day, warriors by night,

We were betrayed by the humans we had sworn to protect,

Frozen in stone by a magic spell for a thousand years.

Finally, the spell was broken, and we lived again!

But our struggle was far from over...

For the last two hundred years we have faced the future,

Navigating an uneasy truce with the human race.

But now the planet Earth itself is under attack!

Humanity is helpless!

And we may be your last hope for freedom...

We are defenders of the night!

We are protectors of this world!

The year is 2198.

And we... are gargoyles!

 **Antarctica, April 30th, 2198 C.E.**

"This is Lisa Marshall, reporting from the United Nations' HQ in Manhattan, where less than a month ago Earth was officially declared a… protectorate of the Space-Spawn Empire." The blonde reporter spoke coldly and mechanically, a far cry from the Lisa Marshall who had made a name for herself as a journalistic firebrand. "General Secretary Tseng is expected to officially announce the integration of advanced mnemonic recoding techniques, generously provided by our Space-Spawn allies, into Earth's existing correctional systems. Experts estimate this technology could lower recidivism rates to virtually nil over the course of…"

A single talon swiped across the touchscreen, bringing up another video. What must have been a hundred humans clad in dark blue hoods cheered enthusiastically as a winged and horned figure was burned in effigy. Quarrymen propaganda was becoming more and more common; spread by belief that the Gargoyle Nation had been complicit in the abduction of most of Earth's leaders on Queen Florence Island. Earth's new 'allies' had not been quick to either confirm or deny the claim.

The talon swiped through a dozen more news stories. Its owner was a gargoyle of a deep rich blue with midnight black feathered wings. Below his waist, instead of legs, coiled a single ophidian tail. He wore little save for a pendant of shimmering blue sapphire.

A derisive snarl broke his train of thought. He turned to its source, sitting on the other side of the cabin. Light blue skin contrasted vividly with her fiery red mane. Her eyes shimmered a faint blood red.

"Something troubles you, Demona?" Zafiro asked.

"Only the new depths human hypocrisy has sunk too. When they cannot destroy what they fear, they grovel before it like beaten dogs begging their master's approval. How does it not gall you?" she spat.

"the entire planet was conquered in less than a day. People are trying to cope with something completely unprecedented in known history as best they can."

"I've been alive for almost thirteen centuries, hatchling. Do not presume to lecture me on history."

For a moment Zafiro considered arguing the point but decided against it. Over the last month, he'd quickly learned trying to reason with the gargoyle sorceress was a futile effort. Not for the first time, he wondered what had possessed Samson to recruit a genocidal terrorist to the Resistance. Of course, by the standards of the Space-Spawn and their human puppets, they were all terrorists.

He also wondered why Samson had paired then together for this mission. On a practical level, it made some sense. The six-month polar night could potentially wreak havoc on a gargoyle's natural sleep-cycles. The magic of his sapphire amulet and Demona's own 'curse' would protect them from the worst of it… in theory.

New Camelot's own gargoyle clan had no such protection. The Utopian city-state had been completely cut off from the rest of the planet since the invasion. This mission was the first relief effort the Resistance had managed to put together. Even then, Samson could only spare a token team.

Their mission was simple enough. Take a LXC air-carrier to New Camelot and evacuate any survivors they found, human, gargoyle or otherwise. Of course, that was assuming there were any left Zafiro mused darkly.

"Zafiro, Demona… please report to the cockpit," a metallic voice spoke over the comm.

Demona and Zafiro arrived in the cockpit to be greeted by a diminutive silver gargoylesque automaton. A small access port allowed it to directly interface with the air-carrier's controls.

"Fifty-Seven, is something the matter?" Zafiro asked.

"I've detected a Space-Spawn trident on an intercept course," LXM-1057 spoke without emotion as it brought up a holographic display of their pursuer.

It was something like three jet black blades radiating from a single central hub, totally devoid of color save for a few faintly glowing emerald veins. It was impossible to tell whether the craft's construction was biological, technological or something in between.

Both gargoyles tensed. Limited experience had already thought the Resistance to respect the speed and lethality of the alien fighter craft.

"How long until it's in weapon range?" Demona demanded.

"0.58 seconds ago," LXM-1057 spoke as the carrier shook with the impact of the trident's attack. "Antigrav engines inoperable, prepare for emergency landing," it intoned without passion as the air-carrier went crashing into the ice below.

[-]

"Demona?" a voice called from the darkness.

Her eyes burned, acrid smoke stinging like acid. Blurred colours slowly resolved into a worried ophidian face.

"Za-zafiro…?" she groaned weakly. She looked down to see an arm long shard of twisted metal impaled in her abdomen.

"Try to lay still," Zafiro tried to reassure. "I'll dig out the medkit before…"

Ignoring him, she dug her talons into the metal shard and tore it bodily from herself. Her fangs gritted and her eyes flared crimson as her flesh shredded.

" _Dios mío!_ " Zafiro swore. "Have you lost your mind!?"

"I've survived far worse than this, hatchling." She contemptuously tossed the shrapnel aside as she staggered to her feet, cradling a gaping wound. She surveyed the ruined cockpit. "Why are we still alive?"

"I suppose the Space-Spawn didn't wish to waste the energy," he mused as Demona checked a datapad.

"Fortune favors us. New Camelot isn't that far from here. We might just make it on foot."

"Why not glide?" he inquired.

"If you wish to lose your wings to frostbite, that's your concern," Demona drawled as she began looking for the polar survival gear. The sound of tearing metal distracted her. "What are you doing?"

Zafiro was attempting to pry the inert LXM from the ruined console. "He needs our help."

"'He' is a machine!" Demona snarled in frustration. "A _broken_ machine!"

"He is still one of us."

Demona sighed with exasperation. "Sentimental fools will be the death of me."

[-]

Growing up in the rain-forests of Guatemala, Zafiro had always associated the word 'cold' with the chill dampness of the rainy season. Now he cursed the unmitigated depths of his naivete. Nothing in life could have prepared him for the bone-numbing bitterness of polar night. Even the thermal layers that covered every inch of his body did little but make the climate survivable. Carrying the weight of the LXM strapped to his back hadn't helped.

He had been slithering several hours before his coils gave out beneath him. Demona's thickly gloved talons reached out wordlessly to yank him roughly back upright. She pointed silently ahead where the shadow of a vast dome loomed against the starry night.

Finding an airlock took almost another hour of circumnavigating the structure. Demona attempted to forcibly pry the hatch from its frame to no avail, before scratching in mute rage at the immutable silver metal. She felt Zafiro tapping her shoulder, turning to regard him with barely veiled frustration through thick googles.

He hefted the bulk of the LXM towards the airlock. The droid's one remaining optic flared with yellow light, a silver tendril extending from its metal talons to connect with an access port embedded in the frame. Within moments the airlock opened like a blossoming silver flower, releasing a brief but delicious burst of warmth.

The tunnel opened into a cavernous shadowed hanger. The remains of a dozen heavily damaged aircraft were scattered about like the bones of titanic birds of prey.

The two gargoyles began divesting themselves of the cumbersome thermal layers they had been forced to wear. The hanger was still cool but far within their tolerance.

"This makes no sense." Demona eyed the shadows warily. "The Space-Spawn captured the Master Matrix when they invaded. Without it, New Camelot should be a frozen waste."

"Perhaps they were able to repair the environmental contr- Demona!" Zafiro cried in horror.

The female gargoyle had fallen to her knees, clutching her throat as she snarled in agony.

"Demona, what's wrong?!" the Mayan gargoyle cried futilely. He searched frantically but found no visible wound. His pointed ears picked out something over the sound of Demona's howls of rage.

A low sardonic chuckle.

"Poor little gargoyle…" a rasping voice called from the darkness.

"Sore throat, darling?" another, or perhaps the same, voice asked mockingly.

"Let us kiss it better."

The Mayan hissed in pain as something like ice cold talons tore into his wing, straining his obsidian feathers dark crimson.

"Zafiro, are you injured?" asked the LXM, still strapped to the gargoyle's back.

"Something attacked me from behind!" Zafiro spoke.

"I detect no hostiles."

"I noticed," Zafiro spoke with more accusation than he had intended.

Two figures emerged slowly from the shadows, circling the injured gargoyles with sinuous predatory grace. They appeared human mostly, bald and ashen skinned, female though oddly androgynous. Their limbs and most of their bodies had been replaced by cybernetics. Their arms terminated in serrated metal talons. As far as Zafiro could tell, they were perfectly identical.

"I've always wondered what gargoyle tastes like," the first spoke, brandishing a bloodied talon. "Haven't you, sweet Hyena?"

The second leaned forward, delicately licking the crimson from her companion's hand.

"Demona…" Zafiro whispered. "These humans smell… wrong. Like blood and grave earth. They smell…"

"Dead, hatchling," Demona spoke quietly as she rose to her feet. "They smell dead."

The twin horrors' lips peeled back to reveal long needle like fangs, jaws distending into slavering maws. They fell on all fours, joints popping and rearranging as manged fur sprouted from their skin. Within moments the two cyborgs were gone, replaced by a pair of monstrous canid horrors.

" _Dios mío_ …" Zafiro whispered. " _Camazotz_ …"

The twin undead monstrosities tittered maddeningly… then pounced.

[-]

 **Borgo Pass, May 4th, 1912 A.D.**

The carriage bounded swiftly but roughly along the rocky mountain road. The traveller occasionally peered out the small window. The forest was redolent in the blood red glow of sunset. He rubbed his throat, still sore from the licking of the grey wolf's file-like tongue, becoming ever more lost in his own thoughts.

 _Come… closer…_

The traveler awoke with a start. He must have dozed off for the carriage had come to a complete stop without his consciously realizing it. Beyond the window was nothing but empty black. Someone rapped lightly on the wooden door.

"Mein herr?" the muffled voice of the coachman spoke.

"Yes?" the traveler asked, peering out the window. They had stopped at a crossroads illuminated by the sickly yellow moon.

"This is as far as I go. You must walk from here," the coach man spoke in practiced English. "Or I take you back to inn, maybe?" he added hopefully.

"No, I will continue on foot." The traveler buttoned up his overcoat and retrieved his valise before descending from the coach. "I know the way from here."

He had begun down the rocky forested path when the coachman called out. "Wait!"

The traveler looked back uncertainly.

"Take this." The coachman pressed an old rosary into the traveler's hand. The crucifix gleamed like silver in the moon light, its wooden beads loving worn by years of prayer.

"No… I… I couldn't possibly…"

"Please," the old man spoke pleadingly. "For your mother's sake?"

The traveler made no reply at first, but simply placed the holy beads around his neck, tucking them carefully beneath his coat. "Thank you," he spoke quietly before disappearing into the night.

[-]

 **New Camelot, April 30th, 2198 C.E.**

The stench of plundered tombs filled Zafiro's nostrils as the undead jackal's jaws snapped hungrily at the Mayan's face. It took all his gargate strength just to hold the beast at bay as it pinned him to the ground, his talons sinking deep into lifeless flesh. Even then, he could feel his muscles approaching breaking point.

Zafiro could make out snarls in the din, no doubt Demona and the hyena ghoul locked in similar combat. As the tendons in his arms reached the limits of endurance, all other sound was drowned out by a deafening roar.

The next thing Zafiro knew, something white, furred and fierce rammed into the undead jackal with the force of a bullet train. As he coiled upright, he saw the vampiric beast locked in savage combat with a snow-white Bengali tiger. Looking over his shoulder revealed a bright red gargoyle beast similarly engaged with the hyena ghoul.

He slithered towards Demona, who was still staggering to her feet. She batted him away contemptuously. "I do not require your fawning, hatchling!" she snapped.

Before Zafiro could retort, another figure descended from the shadows, landing before them. She was a green furred gargoyle of Zafiro's own generation. Feathered wings complimented her stag-like antlers and hooves. Heavy bandages covered her eyes, tell-tale signs of scarring peeked out under the white linen. She wore little save for a simple grey tunic and a strange mechanical collar.

"Hurry, Barghest and Khanata won't be able to keep them at bay for long." She gestured to a hatch sheltered beneath a ruined wing. Within moments, all three gargoyles were crawling through a maze of maintenance tubes, leaving the din of battle far behind.

Zafiro's serpentine form did make him marginally more comfortable than his bipedal comrades. "What about your beasts?" the Mayan asked as he and Demona crawled through the cramped tubes, just behind their rescuer.

"Don't worry, they'll be fine… I hope." She sounded less assured than she probably intended. "I'm Peryton, by the way."

"Zafiro of the Maya Clan. My comrade is… of the Wyvern Clan." Not technically a lie, he thought.

"The Maya clan, you're a pendent bearer then?" she asked.

" _Sí_. You're familiar with our customs?" He cocked an eyebrow ridge.

"I read a lot. At least… I used to," she absentmindedly touched the bandages covering now empty eye sockets.

"We did not travel halfway across the globe to hear you lament your personal tragedies, child!" Demona interjected. "Why is New Camelot infested with _Nosferatu_? Where is your clan?"

"That… should probably wait until we get to the Cave," the antlered gargoyle responded.

"The Cave?" Zafiro asked.

"You'll see."

They must have spent the better part of an hour winding through a labyrinth of maintenance tubes before Peryton located the access hatch she sought. The three gargoyles dropped into what appeared the be an icy cave, hidden deep beneath New Camelot itself.

"Is this your cave?" Zafiro asked.

"It's _a_ cave, not _the_ Cave," Peryton replied.

Demona toyed with the idea of brutally beating a straight answer out of the insolent hatchling when she noticed two pairs of eyes shimmering in the dark. She readied herself for battle as the great white tiger stalked from the shadows, followed by a scarlet gargoyle beast.

"Wait!" Peryton cried.

The tiger's form began to melt and shift. White and ebon fur peeled back to reveal dark bronze skin. Great razor sharp fangs and claws withered into tiny blunt teeth and fingernails. A moment later, a human female. seemingly of south Asian descent, crouched in the tiger's place.

Peryton bowed. "Dame Khanata, are we alone?"

"The _vetālas_ did not follow," the human spoke with a low feral growl.

"You… you turned into a tiger?" Zafiro stammered.

"No," the woman snarled indignantly. "I turned into a human to converse with you. It is an ugly and ungainly shape."

Demona let out a sharp bitter laugh. "My sympathies."

Peryton drew a small glowing blue crystal from the folds of her garment and pressed it against a lighter patch of rocky wall. Zafiro and Demona watched in amazement as solid stone seemed to melt away like warm butter, revealing an intricately carved archway fashioned of the same strange crystal.

"Welcome to the Crystal Cave!"

Much of the Crystal Cave's interior overflowed with makeshift cots holding dozens of humans and gargoyles, most of them injured or maimed. Amid the rows, a male gargoyle passed from cot to cot, tending to the worst of the injured.

He was hawkish in general outline, with a curved raptor like beak and regal fiery red coloring. Several golden ornaments adorned his body, including a neck piece fashioned into an Egyptian solar disk. Demona thought he would have made a rather handsome specimen if not for the haggard look in his eyes. Clearly the healer had been pushed to his limits.

"Peryton, Dame Khanata," He inclined his head respectfully towards the latter. "How did the sonar collar hold up?"

"Well enough." She tapped the collar lightly. "Still having trouble picking up those things though. Benu, this is Zafiro of the Maya clan, and his friend from Wyvern." She placed a talon on the young Mayan's shoulder. "Zafiro, this is Benu, our chief medical officer."

" _Acting_ chief medical officer." Benu peered over Peryton's shoulder at the newcomers. "Perhaps you'd best speak with the Rabbi? Follow me."

"Demona," Zafiro whispered under his breath. "What happened to you out there?"

"None of your concern," she spoke sharply.

"But…"

She turned on him with eye that burned like the coals of _Xibalba_ itself. "Hatchling, keep your tongue still… or you may not keep it at all."

[-]

"For two centuries, the Knights of New Camelot have been the guardians of peace and justice in this world. We fought against the hidden machinations of the Fisher King, the legions of the Fourth Reich and even the mad Queen of the Third Race," The Golem spoke with a sonorous voice old as a mountain and sad as the sea. "We faced more powerful foes, but few who could compare in the sheer depths of their malice with Vlad Țepes."

Zafiro's eyes widened. "Vlad Tepes… Dracula… _The_ Dracula?"

The Golem nodded with slow grace. "In the twilight years of the twenty-first century, Tepes attempted to merge his own tainted blood with a carrier virus. He sought to unleash a Plague of Undeath that would have ravaged the entire globe. Many of my fellow Knights fell that night."

Peryton turned to Zafiro, whom she had been sitting beside. "Since then, Tepes had been kept contained in the depths of the Dungeon. At least, until the invaders abducted the Master Matrix."

"How did you survive without the Matrix to regulate your sleep cycles?" Zafiro inquired.

"We almost didn't," Benu tilted his head in a bird like motion. "The physical and mental stress of going nights without stone sleep practically crippled most of our warriors. Fortunately, after the first couple of weeks our biological clocks began to adjust to a standard twelve-hour sleep cycle. Unfortunately, Dracula and his minions had already solidified their grip on New Camelot by then."

"What about the climate? I was under the impression New Camelot would be frozen over without the Matrix?" Zafiro asked.

"We believe Dracula is using his power over the elements to maintain a barely livable climate within the dome," Peryton answered.

"Why would he do that?"

"Is it not obvious, Mayan?" the Golem's voice rumbled. "He wants to preserve his larder."

Zafiro repressed a shudder at the implication. "Have you not tried evacuating?"

Benu shook his head. "We sabotaged all means of transport the first chance we got. We couldn't risk Dracula escaping to the outside world."

"But you can help change that, Zafiro," Peryton interjected.

"Me?" the Mayan asked.

"You have a functioning LXM." She pointed to the remains of the automaton still strapped to Zafiro's back.

"'Functioning' seems a… generous way of putting it, _Amiga_."

"Maybe, but Dracula completely destroyed all our LXMs. If we can get yours to the Master Matrix's primary interface, we can reactivate New Camelot's environmental controls."

"What good would that do?"

"The _Nosferatu_ loses its power during the day," the Golem rumbled. "Whether that day is natural or artificial."

Zafiro's brow ridges furrowed. "Would that not leave your clan vulnerable?"

"New Camelot is our protectorate," Peryton spoke. "If this helps you and the Knights liberate it then we're willing to take that risk."

Zafiro craned his head over his shoulders "Fifty-Seven, can you do as they ask?"

The LXM's head whirred as it spun a full hundred and eighty degrees. "In theory."

Zafiro stroked chin, eyes narrowed pensively before turning to his companion. "What do you think, De…" The young warrior froze.

Demona was gone.

[-]

Demona stalked stealthily through the empty streets of New Camelot, creeping incrementally from one shadow to another. Unnatural silence pervaded everything about her. She occasionally caught sight of frightened shadows peering furtively from an alley or seemingly abandoned building before fleeing into the darkness. How easily the humans were cowed.

She had been creeping past what appeared to be a small deserted church when the silence was broken by the distant but rapidly incoming scrit-scratching of countless clawed feet. The gargoyle immediately leaped atop the edifice, taking shelter behind its needle-like steeple.

Curiosity overrode caution as she peered out over the chapel's crenelations.

Hundreds of dark furred rats raced down the street, their eyes glinting a bloody crimson, their bellies fat and distended from over feeding, their voices tittering obscenely. Several of them carried electronic and mechanical components in their knife like incisors, like ants carrying food back to the colony.

Demona shivered unconsciously. There was something unquestionably insectile in the rodents' movements. The swarm moved more like a single organism dominated by a unified will than a simple pack of individual beasts.

One of the creatures suddenly stopped in its tracks. The vermin shot up on its hind legs, head darting in all directions as though seeking a predator… or prey.

Demona ducked behind the chapel's crenelations. She laying perfectly silent and still, not even breathing, almost wishing she could squelch even the thunderous beating of her own heart. Long agonizing moments passed before she dared raise her head again.

The swarm had passed but she could still make it out in the distance, hurrying towards its ultimate destination.

[-]

 **Castle Dracula, May 5th, 1912 A.D.**

The traveler stood before the yawning gates of the crumbling castle as though expecting an invitation. The last time he had looked upon these rotting battlement, he had been but a child. The sun had shone bright and clear that day, making the ancient ruins seem like small sad things.

He recalled sitting upon the knee of the old Dutchman. The elderly professor had been the closest thing the traveler had ever known to a grandfather. Even then he had seemed impossibly ancient, like a once mighty mountain slowly being ground to dust by the patient unforgiving seas of time.

That day was the first time the traveler had ever truly feared death. The first time he had heard the Voice.

Somewhere in the depths of the forest a wolf howled. Its low eerie cry seemed laden with expectation, inviting.

 _Enter freely…_

The traveler blinked, suddenly finding himself within the castle's courtyard. Without any conscious intention, he had crossed the threshold.

[-]

 **New Camelot, April 30th, 2108 C.E.**

Grim battlements rose from the mists, creating the illusion of that the castle floated upon a bank of clouds. The allusion was not lost on Demona as she slowly climbed the stone walls, silently as possible while one's talons were gouging into solid rock.

The closer she drew to the castle, the more the pain grew. It felt like her entire body was covered in a latticework of unhealed wounds, a subtle agony slowly digging into her very bones. She paid it little mind. Pain and herself had been intimate companions too long to give each other much notice.

Peering over the battlements revealed no one patrolling the parapet walk. She stealthy leapt over the wall, dropping quietly into the shadows of mournful looking guard tower. Not that the darkness would afford her much protection from the enemy if they happened upon her.

Blood red banners hung everywhere Demona turned, crudely painted with the image of a night black dragon or serpent biting down on its own tail. She recognized it as a modified form of the emblem of the Order of the Dragon. Originally, a symbol of the human Christ's supposed victory over death. Now, it proclaimed Tepes' own belief that he had surpassed his former deity.

The vampire was nothing if not nostalgic.

Demona's ear perked up at a faint sound, one that seemed incongruous in a castle haunted by revenants.

The whir of machinery.

From her vantage point, Demona peered down into the courtyard where a vast metallic structure filled the open space from one wall to the other. For one insane instant, she fancied it was a gigantic battleaxe forged for the hand of a titan.

A moment of observation revealed its true nature. What she had taken for impossibly large axe blades were in truth, sleek black forward sweeping wings. The armor-plated shaft was its fuselage, and its sinister skull-like pommel a cockpit.

"Hyena!" a harsh voice barked across the courtyard. Demona withdrew further into the shadows as one of the cybernetic revenants from before strode from an archway.

Her mate poked a bald head from an access panel in the craft's undercarriage, turning a full hundred and eighty degrees as she did so. "What is it, Jackal? I'm busy."

"The 'Master' wants to know if you've finished installing the autopilot yet?" the one called 'Jackal' asked.

"I'll get to it," Hyena responded laconically.

"The Master wants us ready to leave by midnight and you know the airship is useless without the autopilot. We can't…"

"Can't cross running water under our own power, break into some nobody's home without an invite or even take a nap without our special dirt." Hyena crawled spider-like from the access hatch. "If I'd known being a soulless creature of the night involved so many stupid rules, I would have stayed dead."

"Just get it done, Hyena. And if there's time before midnight…" Jackal purred as she allowed a single metal talon to delicately trace its way down the cool marble skin of Hyena's nape. "I'll show you what else we can do in the dirt."

Hyena shivered with anticipation, leaning closer to Jackal with half-lidded eyes.

Jackal pushed her away. "After."

Demona watched as the two cybernetic revenants crawled back up through the access hatch one after the other disappearing from sight. She would have to move quickly while Tepes' harlots were occupied. Fortunately, she already had a fair idea where to find her quarry.

The Dungeon was accessible only by a large shaft sunk deep into the castle's Foundations. Demona supposed it must once have housed an elevator of some sort. Now it gaped open and empty, like a wound refusing to heal.

She crawled down the shaft headfirst, lizard-like, into a gloom that strained even a gargoyle's vision. Her eyes darted constantly in all directions. Every shadow or shape seemed ready to coalesce into an undead abomination at a moment's notice.

She alighted at the base of the shaft, creeping forward cautiously. The "Dungeon" lived up to its name. Cold iron bars had been crudely welded onto cells originally designed to house energy fields and other less… medieval restraints. Half a dozen vaguely human shapes huddled in the corners of the cells under dirty tarps, moaning feebly.

Demona passed them by, keeping her vision set dead ahead. She did not allow either her eyes or her thoughts to dwell on such things.

A cyclopean vault stood at the end of the corridor. The wire innards of the locking mechanism hung strung out like the entrails of a gutted animal. Her talons dug into the steel, muscles straining as she drew back the heavy steel doorway. Her eyes acclimating quickly as she peered into the darkness beyond.

"By the Dragon…" she whispered.

A grey-haired figure hung from the upper dark. suspended by heavy iron chains. He wore little but a tattered grey loincloth. His flesh was a patchwork of pale scars and still oozing wounds, though particularly concentrated around his throat. Demona could feel his pain washing over her body in waves of agony.

He raised his head weakly, eyes meeting hers. "Demona..?"

"Macbeth," she intoned without a trace of emotion. "What are you doing in New Camelot?"

"Up until about a month ago…" he wheezed. "I was enjoying 'retirement'." His eyes narrowed. "What are ye doing here?"

She reached up to shatter the iron manacles. "Getting you out."

He slumped limply into her arms, unable to support his own weight. "Ach… I dinnea know you cared?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Macbeth," she hissed as she threw his arm over her shoulder. "Leaving you in Tepes' clutches is a liability I cannot afford."

"I'm bloody touched," he grunted.

She looked down on the tapestry of scar tissue that spread across his body. "What did they do to you?"

"Ach, this is nothing," he chuckled. "I once spent a few years as a guest of the Spanish Inquisition back in the seventeen century. Bloody buggers couldn't take a joke."

As she dragged his limp form through the dungeon corridor, something tugged at her wing. Her head spun, eyes flashing, talons flaring.

A young human female, barely more than a child, looked up at her pleadingly. Her hands reaching through the bars. "A gargoyle… thank God… A GARGOYLE!"

A dozen hands suddenly began grasping and pleading through the iron bars. Men, women, children filling the dungeon with a cacophony of desperate hope.

"We have to help them," Macbeth spoke through bloody lips.

"Don't be a fool, we have to move while both Tepes' harlots are occupied." She hissed, glaring at him.

"Damn you, Demona," he snarled. "If we leave these people; their lives, if not their very souls, are as good as forfeit." He cocked an eyebrow. "Both?"

"What?"

"You said 'both'?"

Demona's eyes widened as she cursed her own stupidity. Tepes was nothing if not a creature of habit. He already had his castle… his larder… his brides. The cacophony died as the dungeon suddenly grew cold.

A figure floated in the elevator shaft, ethereal and unreal. She was clad in flowing white gossamer as pale as her alabaster skin and flowing moonbeam hair. The only trace of color was the dried rust red stain upon her lips.

Three, there are always three.

Demona unceremoniously dumped the limp Macbeth and rushed the undead, fully intending to tear the abomination's head from its shoulders with her bare talons.

Before Demona had crossed more than six feet, the creature's lips distended into a gaping fanged maw and the dungeon shook with a piercing banshee wail. The gargoyle clutched her ears as her brain exploded in white hot agony doubled by her mental link with Macbeth.

She crawled on all fours towards the revenant, talons reaching out to tear the hem of the fiend's gossamer robe before her consciousness was completely subsumed by black oblivion.

[-]

 **Castle Dracula, May 16th, 1912 A.D**

The traveler awoke with a start, looking frantically around the empty decrepit bedchamber. He was both relieved and strangely disappointed to find it coldly empty.

He had the dream again. Every night the women had come to him, whispering promises of unholy ecstasy. Every night he had awakened just as he felt the caress of their crimson stained lips. But this time had been different. This time they had whispered of a secret place buried deep beneath the castle.

He leaped from the bed and ran wildly through the twisting turns of the ruined edifice. The voice guided his every step, until he eventually came to a grey somber sepulcher, a single word engraved above its door.

Dʀᴀᴄᴜʟᴀ

A stench that irrationally made the traveler think of fetid stone permeated the interior of the tomb. He came to a long stone sarcophagus. His hand ran across the base until he came to a small carved dragon biting its own tail.

 _Open it…_

He turned the stone dragon like a key. Something rumbled deep below his feet as the sarcophagus drew back, revealing stone steps leading down into the heart of the Carpathian Mountains.

The traveler held his candle high as he took one cautious step down into the depths, then another and another. He began to stride downwards with growing confidence when the stone stairway began to crumble beneath his feet, sending the traveler hurtling into the abyss.

[-]

 **New Camelot, April 30th, 2198 C.E.**

The first thing Demona became consciously aware of was the hard, bitter cold of the stone floor pressed against her face. The second thing she became aware of was the sound of mocking tittering coming from above.

"Aww… poor little gargoyle," one of the cyborg Nosferatu fawned, before viciously kicking Demona across the jaw.

Demona's eyes blazed red as she lunged at the abomination, only to be cut short by the alchemically hardened steel shackles chaining her the floor. The twin monstrosities responded with a harsh, bitter cackle.

"Enough…" a low whisper echoed, like the night wind through a tomb, and the hall went suddenly went silent. Demona's gaze turned upwards, towards the shimmering golden throne that loomed over her.

The being that sat upon the golden throne was resplendently clad in a dark purple robe inset with shimmering gold and glistening jewels. Sadly, the effect was somewhat marred by the trail of dried gore running down from the creature's mouth like a grotesque bib.

Her eyes narrowed. "Tepes."

His form was almost unrecognizable to Demona. Gone was the pale gaunt Prince she remembered. In his place squatted a morbidly swollen… thing, his skin ruddy and translucent like a gorged tick. His ice blue eyes burned with a hideous delight, lips peeled back in a rictus fanged grin.

"Demona…" the Prince Vlad Dracula spread his arms wide. "Welcome... to New Wallachia""

On one side of the throne, stood a pale spectral woman clad in nothing but a shimmering gossamer robe. On the other side, Macbeth hung suspended in chains. A small crimson stream trickled from his throat into a golden jeweled chalice below, explaining why Demona still felt so disoriented.

"The Scot is a marvel, is he not?" The Prince chuckled darkly as he lifted the chalice to his already stained lips, take a deep drought of the scarlet nectar. "No matter how much we bleed him; death will not claim him."

"You two… know each other?" Macbeth grunted dimly.

"Oh yes…" The Prince beamed warmly. "Demona and I are old… school chums, you might say? We both studied at the dread Scholomance, taught the darkest secrets of sorcery by the Adversary Himself."

"Bloody figures," was the Scottish King's only response.

"Why am I here, Tepes?" Demona snarled.

The Prince reached into the folds of his bloodstained robe, revealing a transparent vial filled with a sickly green fluid. He held it before his face for all to see, his features warped even further by the glass. "Do you recognize this, Demona?"

Neither her face or voice betrayed any emotion. "A carrier virus."

"CV-1476 to be precise, painstakingly recreated using the late Anton Sevarius' notes and my own alchemy. It needs only to be combined with my blood to become a Plague of Undeath capable of scouring the Earth of all Adam's children."

"Tepes, are you actually monologuing your plans to me?" Demona barked out a harsh laugh. "You've watched far too many of those ridiculous films the humans make of you."

"I'm not explaining my plans to you, Demona." He returned the vial to its secret place within his robes. "I'm offering you the chance to be part of them."

Demona was quiet, either unwilling… or unable to respond.

"Seven centuries of undeath, and you are the only being on this Earth whose hatred for humanity rivals mine. Join me, Demona. Stand by my side and together… we can finally take our well-deserved vengeance on this fallen world."

Her eyes raised to meet his. "No."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Pardon…?"

"When I take my vengeance on humanity, it will be on my own terms, Tepes. Not Yours."

The entire throne room went deathly silent for one long moment.

"Silence!" the Prince screamed, turning to hurl his blood-filled chalice at an empty corner of the throne room. "I will not be questioned… I will not be defied… I RULE HERE!" The vampire king continued to shriek incoherently at empty space as he raked the side of his skull with his own talons, drawing trickles of black ichor.

All present froze, not daring to attract the Prince's attention. Even Demona was taken aback. She had always known that under his cold aristocratic veneer, Tepes was little more than a savage animal driven by unnatural hungers and lusts, but he had always been controlled, calculating. He had always wielded his rage as a swordsman wield his blade, choosing only the most opportune moments to unleash it. She wondered if, after seven long centuries, the Red Thirst finally begun to devour what remained of his human mind.

Something black and hairy leaped from a darkened corner, making straight for the throne. The rat thing scampered up the crimson stained robes coming to a rest on its master's shoulder, where it tittered obscenely in the Prince's ear.

"Hmm… I see… Siobhán, dear heart?" He whispered, running skeletal talons through the gossamer clad specter's silver hair. "You remember the blind gargoyle you were once so found of?"

"Pery…?" the spectral woman's lips formed the word soundlessly, her eyes glazed and emotionless.

"My subjects inform me that she has infiltrated the Master Matrix chamber…" He brushed her hair aside, leaning close enough to whisper in her ear. "Kill them."

"N-no… I can't…" Her voice wavered, her eyes glistened with pain, anger and despair. "Please… not her."

The Prince's eyes blazed a deep crimson. "I'm afraid, you have absolutely no say in the matter, child."

Her eyes hardened, cold and unfeeling as the polar ice. "As you command, my Prince," she spoke with a voice as soft and empty as the grave before her form dissolved into a pale mist.

[-]

The Master Matrix chamber was a stark empty sphere stretching half the length of a football pitch. Ignored by the castle's new occupiers since the Space-Spawn invasion, the chamber felt like an abandoned cathedral to Peryton, sanctified to an absent deity.

"How long will this take?" she asked as softly as she could, though it didn't prevent a chorus of disembodied voices echoing back her own words from the void.

"Upload 15% complete. Time remaining: 4 minutes and 32 seconds," the LXM intoned, it's tendrils entwined with the circuitry of the chamber.

Peryton sighed. "Well, that's not so…"

"Recalculating… Time remaining: 24 minutes and 58 seconds."

"Bugger…" she swore, awkwardly fiddling with the wooden steak in her talons. She could not properly 'see' the LXM or the chamber surrounding her, but the low level sonic pings of her sonar collar generated a complete 360-degree image of her surroundings. That had been the hardest part to adjust to. The collar had required altering her entire concept of orientation.

Which made it only that much worse when the image suddenly shattered.

A wall of pure sound slammed into the young gargoyle, sending her hurtling across the chamber. She came crashing down onto the cold biting metal.

"You shouldn't have come here, Pery," a voice spoke from the empty air, followed by the sound of footsteps tapping along the surface of the metal sphere.

"Shiv…?" the young gargoyle staggered to her feet, clutching a head still rimging with agony. "Is that you?" She could not make out any other presence with her sonar collar.

Though Peryton still could 'see' no one, she felt cold dead talon clamp around her throat, lifting her bodily from the floor. "Shiv… please…" she choked. "I want to help you."

"Then kill me," the voice spoke.

Peryton felt herself hurling the chamber once again, crashing into a web of loose wires, struggling to tear herself free. Her talons gripped around the wooden stake.

Harsh metallic footsteps drew ever closer to the young gargoyle. "I don't want to hurt you, Shiv. Just… just stay back!" She swung wildly at the empty air, only for invisible talons to wrap around her wrist with serpentine speed.

"This can only end one way, Pery."

Peryton tried to struggle, tried the break free but her hand seemed frozen in mid-air, clutching the impotent wooden weapon. No… she felt her hand move almost imperceptibly, as though guided, until the sharpened point of the ash hovered directly over one point in the seemingly empty air.

"Please…" the thing that had once been her best friend whispered.

Peryton placed her other talon firmly on the butt of the steak. "I'm sorry…" she sobbed, before pushing down on the weapon with all her might. Another mournful wail filled the chamber as Peryton felt undead flesh yield before the sharpened wood, and the young gargoyle's world suddenly went black.

Whether she had blacked out for a moment or an hour, Peryton could not say. All she knew was that her sonar collar was rebooting, filling her mind once more with an image of the empty chamber, except not quite so empty now.

Before her lay the still body of Dame Siobhan Dugan, clad in a pale shroud. A wooden stake buried deep in her breast. The only consolation Peryton could take was in the look of absolute tranquility on her friend's face. A face Peryton crawled forward to cup tenderly in her hands.

"Time remaining: 16 seconds," the LXM intoned indifferently.

[-]

"It would seem my sweet banshee has fallen?" The Prince shrugged, drawing once more the greenish vial. "Plenty more where that came from." He slid the vial into a hypo-syringe, pressing the device against his flesh. A low hiss was the only audible sign as the poison emptied into his already tainted veins.

"What now, Tepes?" Demona asked.

"It will only be a matter of hours before the carrier virus merges completely with my blood. By that time, I intend to be well away from this waste and among the teeming billions of humanity, walking unnoticed and unseen." He grinned wickedly, revealing lupine fangs.

"As for you, Demona... Since you rejected me, I leave you in the care of my new children." He gestured to the cybernetic twins, who flexed their metallic talons with anticipation. "Between you and the Scot, they should be able to amuse themselves 'til Judgement Day. Which shouldn't be too far off."

Before Demona could retort, blinding golden light suddenly flooded the throne room, streaming through the priceless stained-glass windows. Her vision blurred as her body twisted and contorted in agony, her tail and wings withering into nothing, her very flesh and bones violently reshaping themselves. By the time her vision cleared, she was looking down on tiny, pink human hands… her hands.

The pain had only subsided just enough to let her think before another wave of chaos erupted. Something resembling a giant boulder came crashing through the throne room's skylight, sending shattered glass raining down like crystal snowfall.

It landed with a deafening boom, sending a cloud of powdered marble rising in all directions before unfolding into a hulking, vaguely manlike form. It reached out to the nearest cyborg crushing her in its titanic grip.

Hyena writhed in the clay fist. "I… I can't change…"

"No, you can't," The Golem rumbled, before slamming the vampire repeatedly into the marble floor.

"Hyena!" the one called Jackal called out, before a snow white tiger pounced on her from behind.

Demona had taken the opportunity to slip out of her shackles, having been fitted to the somewhat larger form of a gargoyle.

"Demona!" Zafiro cried out from above, landing by her side. He unslung a particle rifle from his shoulder and tossed it to her. "I thought you might need this."

She charged the rifle, taking satisfaction in its cool weight. "What did you do, hatchling?"

"Fifty-Seven installed a 'patch' in New Camelot's environmental controls. It won't last forever though. We should hurry before…"

"Where is Tepes?" Her eyes darted across the throne room, coming to a rest on a tapestry directly behind the throne, fluttering slightly. "Damn him!" she snarled before turning to race for the courtyard.

"Demona wait!" Zafiro cried as he swiftly slithered after her. By the time he reached the courtyard, the obsidian black aircraft was already rising several feet off the ground. The last he saw of Demona was her human form clambering through the hatch before it sealed shut behind her.

"Demona!" the Mayan cried in desperation as the dragon-like craft shot off across New Camelot faster than any gargoyle could possibly glide.

[-]

Demona crept warily towards the craft's bow, her body still aching from the pain of having shifted back into her gargoyle form so soon. Tepes' craft must have already breached the dome, returning them both to the realm of seemingly endless polar night.

The cockpit was bathed in hazy red light, giving it an unreal dreamlike quality. It was also completely empty. She raised her particle rife, flexing the talons of her free hand, ready to deal death with either at a moment's notice.

The air before her rippled oddly. Before Demona could question her senses, bestial talons materialized from the air, crushing the rifle's barrel in a flurry of sparks. A second set of talons clamped around her throat, raising her from her feet.

The air in the cockpit clarified. What Demona had taken for haze had actually been the vampire's mist form thinly diffused across the cabin. A mist that now rapidly coalesced into a solid form.

The beast loomed over Demona, scraping its misshapen head against the ceiling. It was a nightmarish chimera of human, bat and wolf; covered in shaggy black fur save for the face. The face was twin red eyes like burning coals and a gaping fanged maw set within a mass of grey leather folds. "You disappoint me, Demona. Of all who walked this Earth, I thought you would understand."

"Tepes, listen…" She wheezed. "If you go through with this, the Space-Spawn will destroy this world and everything on it, including you and your kind."

The vampire leaned closer, its eye little more than an inch from hers, its foul stanching filling her nostrils. "Good."

"What…?"

"Do you think I'm doing this for 'Glory of the Vampire race'? Oh, Demona," it spoke with something almost approaching pity. "To be so old and yet have learned so little."

The thing hurled her against a control console, pinning her there. "I once thought as you do, Demona. I committed atrocities that would make even your blood run cold." It ran a single icy talon along her neck, bringing a shiver of revulsion from the gargoyle. "I butchered men, women, even little children and called myself righteous. I told myself I was protecting my people, that I was doing God's work."

"What changed?" she asked through gritted fangs, hoping to stall the insane beast.

"I died, and with death came… Epiphany. For the first time, I saw myself for what I truly was… and I embraced it. I will not let the Red Thirst rob me of that blessed clarity, I will embrace True Death before I allow that."

"Is that what all this is about, Tepes?" Her eyes flared crimson. "You don't even have the courage to end your own blasphemous half-life without taking the rest of us with you?"

"Essentially, but first…" The creature ran the tip of its serpentine tongue along the gargoyle's neck. "I will make you mine, Demona, the way I've ached to ever since I first laid eyes upon you, and together… we will watch this world burn."

Pure white hot rage filled Demona's entire being, filling her with a strength that seemed beyond even a gargoyle's capacity as she hurled the vampire across the cabin. "Not before I tear out the shrived offal you call a heart with my bare talons!" she snarled before pouncing on the creature with a roar of pantherish fury.

Gargoyle talons gouged into undead flesh, sending streams of ice cold ichor flying in all directions. Vampiric fangs responded with equal ferocity, slicing veins and unleashing torrents of red hot lifeblood. The two combatants tore at each other with animalistic abandon.

"Enough!" the undead beast roared it as it finally flung its foe across the cabin.

Demona went hurtling into a console, sparks flying everywhere. She staggered to her feet weakly. Blood covered her body, how much of it her own, she couldn't be sure. She coughed weakly, another trickle of crimson falling from her lips.

The equally blood soaked vampire drew itself to its full height, or as much as it could in the cramped cabin. "If you will not stand by my side in ecstasy…" Its talons reached towards its prey. "Then you will die in torment."

Demona's eyes darted about for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. After a moment, she grinned wickedly "Better than you have tried, Tepes." She slammed her hand against a control, causing it to blink steadily.

The vampire froze for a moment, before chuckling darkly as it pinned her to the console. "This a communication panel, Demona. All you've done is activate the craft's locator beacon." Its scythe-like talons hovered before her eyes. "Who do you think will come save you in this waste?"

"I was not calling for rescue, Tepes," she spoke weakly.

Suddenly, the cabin filled with the sound of klaxons. The vampire's blood red eyes widened in horror as they turned to a flashing monitor. A monitor that now showed the sleek alien silhouette of a Space-Spawn trident.

"I was summoning our executioner." Demona grinned wickedly as the cabin filled with an unearthly green light that quickly turned a blinding, searing white.

[-]

 **Beneath Castle Dracula, Romania, May 16th, 12:01 a.m. 1912 A.D.**

The traveler lay still in the darkness, unable to do anything more than breathe. Even his breathes were pained and ragged. His lungs felt wet and heavy. The life blood slowly drained from him into the cold stone.

 _Do you wish to live?_

He tried to speak, only to spurt out a weak sickly cough. In the end, the best he could manage was an imperceptible nod.

Suddenly, countless arcane runes flared to life, glowing a hellish crimson, seemingly floating in the darkness. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized the inscrutable glyphs were carved upon four great stone megaliths that loomed over him, their apices lost in the darkness above.

 _All you need do... is invite me…_

The travelers felt something press itself coldly against his consciousness before withdrawing in frustration. He felt something burn ever so slightly against the skin of his chest.

 _The bauble, child…_

The traveler's hand crawled painfully up his chest, coming to a rest upon the silver crucifix hanging about his neck. It felt strangely warm in his hands, the only warm thing in his entire universe.

 _Remove it…_

The traveler's hand lay still for a few moments, whether from lack of strength or will. Then with a final wrench of his muscles, he tore the crucifix free.

Less than an hour later, something strode forth from the ruined castle, raising its arms in exaltation to the moon above. One might have mistaken the thing for the traveler himself. In truth, it merely wore his flesh. The first flesh it had worn since its original corporeal form had been reduced to dust all those years ago.

That which passed for its soul had been bound to the ancient blood soaked stones deep beneath the castle. It had been patient, waiting, calling for the one who would be its liberator.

Stolen lips peeled back in a wolfish leer. Now, it was simply thirsty.

[-]

 **Manhattan, May 4th, 2198 C.E.**

"Demona…" the voice reverberated through the darkness, strong and deep like the tide. Her eyes flickered open and for an instant, _he_ stood before her.

"Goliath…?"

An emotion beyond Demona's ability to define flooded her mind before the realization came. No, this gargoyle's skin was a light aquamarine, his hair a shocking silver. Though in all other respects the resemblance to her former mate was uncanny.

The storm of conflicting emotions within her suddenly calmed into a placid detached contempt. "Oh… It's you, Samson."

"Nice to see you too, Demona." The leader of the Manhattan Clan and Earth's fledgling Resistance smirked. "We were afraid you might not make it. I don't think any other gargoyle would have if they'd been in the condition you were when we found you."

"Yes, I'm sure your grief would have been immeasurable," she drawled, casting her eyes about what she now realized was the infirmary at Castle Wyvern. It was empty save for herself, Samson and the blond bespectacled human adjusting some equipment. "Where is Zafiro? Is he..?"

"He's fine. In fact, we managed to evacuate the remaining New Camelot survivors to Knight Spur in London. At least for now. Rabbi Loew and the remaining Knights have offered to spearhead the Resistance's activities in Europe. You saved them, Demona, if not all life on Earth."

"What of Tepes?"

Samson's face became grave. "There was no sign of him in the wreckage when we found you. With no blood to sustain him, and running seawater on all sides of the continent, we can only hope he'll remain confined to Antarctica."

Demona snorted. "Do you plan on driving the Space-Spawn from Earth with such baseless optimism?"

"Among other things. I best be off; it'll be dawn soon. We'll conduct a proper debriefing after dark. Until then, Owen has offered to see to your needs," he spoke as he turned to depart.

"How may I be of service?" the bespectacled human asked, inclining his head slightly.

"Hurling yourself from the castle's battlements would be a start," she drawled absently.

"I'll see if I can fit it into my schedule," he intoned. "In the meantime, you have another visitor." He stepped aside to reveal an ophidian shape coiled in the doorway.

She nodded. "Hatchling."

Zafiro slithered next to her bed. "I thought you might appreciate some company during the day?"

"If you must."

His talons fidgeted awkwardly as leaned back on his coils, looking for something to say. "Are you well?"

She glared at him, half her body still covered in heavy casts and bandages.

"Ah… foolish, question."

She stared out the window across, refusing to meet his gaze. "Before we crashed, Tepes said something."

"Oh?"

"He said there was no difference between him and I. That I only sought death and destruction for their own sake. That I was deluded to think otherwise."

Zafiro cocked a brow ridge. "Do you believe him?"

Demona was silent for several minutes before her face hardened in grim certainty. "Tepes was insane, his mind consumed by the Red Thirst. He was willing to destroy all life on this world simply because he could not bear the thought of any creature outliving him. His words were nothing but the ramblings of a dying madman." She watched as the first grey light of dawn slowly bloomed over the horizon.

"Nothing."


	3. Dawn

**Antarctica, September 22nd, 2198 C.E.**

The newly reborn sun shone down on the icy wastes, setting the entire landscape ablaze in a blinding radiance. A pure white light marred by a single black stain.

The thing, clad in burnt rags, clawed its way slowly across the snow. For months, it had wandered the lifeless frozen plains, ever gnawing hunger driving it to the brink of madness. Only the clarity of its hatred had allowed it to cling to some semblance of sanity. Hatred was all that held the voice at bay.

Crimson stars peered out from ruined eye sockets of a charred skull. Upon the very edge of the horizon, where ice met sea, a grey shape stood out against the crystal blue sky.

A ship, no doubt laden with sweet lifeblood. A ship to carry it across the waves. If the creature still had lips, it would have grinned wickedly. Soon, it would glut its appetites to the full. Soon, it would spread the Plague of Undeath that would transform this entire world into a living Hell. Soon, all life on this miserable speck would be cleansed by fire from the stars.

Before it could crawl another inch, the thing howled in agony. Its head spun full around like some deformed owl. A sliver spike drove deep into its back, pinning it to the ice like some macabre moth.

A figure clothed in black stepped into the creature's field of vision. She drew back her hood to reveal a pale woman, her dark hair streaked with grey. The polar cold did not seem to bother her in the slightest. Indeed, it seemed mild next to the look of chilling contempt in her grey eyes.

The things rasped a single word, a word that seemed to distill centuries of malice into two simple syllables. "Harker…"

"Count." She knelt by the creature, drawing a silver kukri knife and pressing its curved blade against the monster's twisted throat.

The fiend let out a low deathly chuckle. "So be it… sever my head, carve out my heart, burn my body and scatter my ashes to the wind. It changes nothing. I have no true life for you to take, Harker. Yet I have already taken everything from you."

Mina Harker gently pressed the edge of the silver blade into the undead flesh, drawing a faint trickle of black ichor that bubbled and boiled on contact with the metal. The pain must have been excruciating, yet the thing never so much as winced.

"I am not interested in bandying words with you, Count," she spoke with a coldness that shamed the polar winds. "Before you die, properly this time, I want to speak with _him_."

"Never…" the beast snarled. "He is _mine_ , now and forever. Slay me… and I will drag his soul down to the Pit with me!"

"Let him speak… or I will leave you pinned here and watch the Thirst consume whatever is left of your mind."

The creature made no response.

Mina locked eyes with the devil. "I said… _let him speak_ ," she spoke, pouring all her will into the words.

The thing seemed to writhe in pain, as though Mina's words had been the final blow to its already weakened defenses. It unleashed one last inhuman howl of rage, lust and agony before falling as silent as a true corpse.

"Muh… muh…" a new voice muttered soft and low from the thing's ruined throat, like the voice of a lost child. "Mother…?"

"Shh…" she cooed gently, cradling the charred skull like visage in her free hand. "It's alright, my child. Mother is here… Quincey."

"I… I'm so… sorry…" The thing sobbed pitifully, reaching out a single pitiful claw. She grasped it tightly in her own hand. "I shouldn't have let him in… tried to fight… he was too strong… I… I could see everything… everything he made my body do… I…"

"It's all right, child," she hushed as crimson tears flowed down her cheeks. "I forgive you everything."

The thing tilted its head toward the cool clear light. "The Sun… I'd almost forgotten how… beautiful it is… Mother?"

"Yes, Quincey?"

"I think… I would like to go see father, now…"

"Yes, of course." She drew another silver knife from her belt, a serrated Bowie, placing its tip directly over the thing's heart. "Don't worry…" She smiled warmly through the bloody tears, bending to kiss her child's forehead. "I'll be with you both… very soon."

 **The End.**


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